


The Age of Grand Illusion

by mildeloquence



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Violence, Explicit Language, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, trigger warnings apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 02:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildeloquence/pseuds/mildeloquence
Summary: Will could imagine his future with Dave, his life converging with that of the man whose snores now reverberated through the small apartment. He could see himself having aged as horribly as his lover, turning to alcohol to cope with his mind. He could imagine himself, not taller or broader, but frail and sickly. He could see himself perched next to Dave, misery embedded into his soul and drink in hand. Will could picture the older men who would try and talk to him and the beating that would follow because of it once he got home. He could imagine the divide between him and his friends, his party, growing to be too far and deep for repair or connecting once more.The thought was the invisible force that tugged him off the cliff. He could not lose his friends and was willing to take a dive into the deep unknown of uncertainty.He turned the lock on the front door and then pulled the chain lock from its spot. He pushed the door open.It's safer than a strange land,But I still care for myselfAnd I don't stand in my own light(Title from Word on a Wing by David Bowie)





	The Age of Grand Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I have littered warnings throughout the tags, but I wanted to put one last one in here. There are serious trigger warnings throughout this. Will is in a very abusive relationship and I would hate if this upset anyone. 
> 
> Also this is barely edited. This was supposed to be much longer and there will be more parts if people want to read. I might keep updating this first part and making it better, but we shall see.

The clock on the wall struck twelve. It didn't ding or chime like the one that had been in his school library as a child. That one would let out a small ding every hour so the library's patrons could keep track of time. The small chime would buzz throughout the library and the memory alone could fill someone with nostalgia. This clock was a cheap piece of plastic mounted to the wall between the window and the kitchen area.

  
Will's eyes flicked up to the clock, cursing internally as the clock continued its path into the next minute. His hands gripped tighter around the wooden handle of his paintbrush. It was new, a gift from Dave after their last fight in hopes of making up for the bruises left littered along his arms. He tried his best to return to painting, legs curled under him to give him a bit of leverage whilst he worked at the easel.

  
His current piece was nowhere near finished and the deadline to the final was inching closer and closer. Sometimes the young art student felt lost in the constant flow of time, seasons changing and semesters beginning and ending without much pause. At this moment, however, time seemed to be something he was painfully aware of. Each second felt like a poke at his side, each minute a jab.

  
The clock read 12:05. Will's mind was buzzing and painting wasn't working. Luckily, his suffering was put to an end as the creaky door to the cheap apartment was flung open. It hit the wall with a loud thud, marking the spot the handle hit. Though, that particular spot was already worn out, compliments of the drunk who was sauntering in.  
Dave was a tall man, looming over with his broad shoulders and big arms. He was a working man and had the muscles to show for it. A strong jaw was the best feature on the older man's face. It made him look almost like a hero from one of those comics that Will read growing up. He was 30 to Will's 20 and had the potential to be an attractive man. Dave, however, cared very little about appearance these days. He had stopped maintaining his facial hair well, always seeming to have a dark stubble from his neck to his cheekbones.

  
"Miss me?"

  
Will frowned over at his partner, his lack of amusement clear as day.

  
"We agreed you would be home before midnight, Dave. You promised you wouldn't keep staying out like this. "

  
"If I wanted a lecture I'd go to church," he slurred, agitation creeping into his words. He was offering Will a warning.

  
Will hadn't been much of a fighter recently. Where the boy in his youth could run from monsters for days and eventually have the strength to overcome them, the now man couldn't find it in him to protect himself from a human. Most nights, Will would have rolled over and apologized for his own feelings.

  
"You could have been hurt."

  
"But I wasn't."

  
"But you could have been. That's the whole point!"

  
Dave pulled the fridge open.The light flickered, buzzing for a moment as it did, before settling on.

  
"I don't answer to- Where's my drinks?"

  
Will's courage faltered slightly. He forced his hands to gently release the paintbrush, pressing it softly into the small shelf of his easel. "We are having a conversation, Dave."

  
The man turned to Will, raising an eyebrow. "Where is my beer, William?"

  
"I didn't- I wasn't trying to upset you."

  
"What did you do with it?"

  
Will's breath caught in his throat. His hands fiddled with the hem of his white t-shirt. He was in for it now. He had been caught and he felt cornered, trapped.

  
"I asked you a question," Dave snapped roughly.

  
"I threw it away."

  
"And who the fuck told you that was okay?"

  
"I just didn't want you to-"

  
Will's sentenced stopped, lost somewhere before the air could flow out. Dave was stalking toward him, eyes trained ahead like a careful hunter. Though, this hunter was after revenge, something to show for his being wronged rather than for food or sport.

  
Will felt it much faster than his brain was able to really comprehend what was happening. He was being shoved to the ground. His torso knocked into his easel and small table balancing paints. His side hit the hardwood first, followed by his hip, legs, and arms. The elbow was a particularly painful blow.

  
The paints from the table seemed to chase after him. They split onto him, colors quickly soaking into his shirt and covering his skin. He felt it run down his cheek, looking almost as though he had shed a yellow tear. It had soaked the side of his hair, down his neck and along his entire side. It dripped on the floor and he found himself lying in a rainbow puddle.

  
The canvas fell last, landing atop him about a second after the paints. The dark vines that had been pulled from deep, dark places in Will's mind were now smudged with a plethora of colors. The rainbow disrupted the dark and dismal painting, smearing over it like an abstract work of art; however, Will was so desperate to ground himself in reality that he found a distaste for all things abstract. The whole mess was made in a matter of seconds, though the effects of it would seem to last much longer.

  
"Why do you have to run your mouth and do stupid shit?" Dave loomed over him, eyes scanning over the mess of boy and art that lay on the floor at his feet. His eyes looked sad for a moment as he regarded Will. He gestured vaguely with his hand, flicking his thick wrist in a circular motion. "Just clean it up. Christ."

  
He dragged his body away from his young lover and he headed back to the kitchen, scratching his gut which had been slowly developing as a result of his drinking habit. Will's hazel eyes watched him carefully look through the cabinets. His large, clumsy hands grappled for something in the back, knocking over a few spices on the way. He pulled out a clear bottle that contained much stronger alcohol than the beer would have been. The front of the bottle was decorated with a pretty label, winter blue, and silver in color, and the neck was embossed with elegant swirls as if the contents of it were magical. Will supposed they were in fact magic. They could pull out the worst of someone, the monstrosities they hide in the back of their subconscious.

  
Will's voice escaped his throat as if on its own, quivering as it the words tumbled from his mouth. "No don't. Please, Dave. Don't."

  
The man glared in Will's general direction. He was already intoxicated, so his stare wasn't precise and it moved over Will as a whole, blue eyes never quite meeting hazel. It was bittersweet to think of his lover's eyes. The vivid color had been one of the things that lured the boy in the first place. It was so vibrant, a stark contrast to the bland nature of most of who Dave was. They shimmered sadly, a memorial to the young man Dave had once been.

  
Watching Will, the pulled the top off the bottle, and tipped it back, chugging the small remainder of the liquid quickly. He pulled away from the bottle as he swallowed. He then moved toward Will and threw the bottle to the floor. Shards of glass sprayed the floor, flying toward and around Will, nipping softly at his already slightly scarred skin.

  
"Clean it," Dave barked at him before moving around to the back of the couch so he could lounge on it.

  
Will didn't move until he heard the click of the TV buzzing on. The light of the screen cast around the room, bits of color dancing across the surfaces and walls. Slowly, he pulled himself to his knees, nicking himself on the glass every so often in the process. By the time he was to his feet, his legs and arms had a few little scratches and a few deeper once, but the bad ones only numbered about two. He padded to the hallway closet, cold feet carefully avoiding stepping onto the glass.

  
He pulled out a broom and slowly began to sweep the shards into a pile, nose wrinkling at the screeching sound the glass made as it ran along the wood. The paint had mixed with the glass and it was hard to tell where the fragments actually were as they were covered now. The television yelled, though Will's ears buzzed with the sound of the glass and he couldn't quite make out the sound. 

  
"Damn queers," Dave groaned at the television, his gruff voice pulling Will's attention back to him.

  
"What?"

  
"Look at them," he waved his large paws in at the screen. "Running around with flags. Fucking fairies. God, it's just disgusting, Will. These college twinks acting like they've got a say in how the world works. Makes me sick."

  
"If they are disgusting, then aren't we too?"

  
It was Dave's pull his attention toward Will. "We aren't like them, Kid. We aren't sick."

  
"Aren't we, though? We do the same things they do. We frequent the same bars, the same clubs. We have the same passions. I mean, shit. We are just like them."

  
"No," Dave snapped, standing up. "We aren't. We aren't freaks. We don't expect the world to owe us anything."

  
"The world does though. Dave, wouldn't you love to be able to do the things everyone else does? Don't you want to be able to never worry about being out in the open with me? Do you not want to marry me?"

  
There was a hesitance to Will's words. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to his questions, especially about marriage. The idea of marrying Dave made Will damn near ill, however, the idea of not being wanted by the man he lived with felt just as bad.

  
Dave let out a harsh, commanding laugh. The sound bounced from wall to wall and rung in Will's ears sharp enough to make him dizzy. It was loud enough to make the loud TV feel silent and it definitely silenced any thoughts or further words Will might have.  
  
"Marry you?" He spat the words like they tasted bitter. "Oh, Kid, that's the funniest thing you have ever said. Do you really think anyone wou-"

  
"Yes. I think I'm nice and plenty of peopl-"

  
"I think a lot of people would fuck you and leave you in the dust, my Pretty Boy. That's what needy little boys like you are good for. That's why I put a roof over your head and paint brushes in your hand. I want something from you and it's not because your nice. It's because you are broken and easy. Your lack of control in your life is why you need someone like me."  
  
He didn't need to hit Will for the air to leave the small boy's lungs. The words seemed to suffocate him, leaving his mind reeling and hands shaking.

  
"Shut up, Dave."

  
"I don't think I will. Let's keep doing this. You can't and won't stop me, Will. You refuse to talk about your childhood, so lets spill that while we are here. No no, I don't need you to say a word," he laughed bitterly at Will. "I bet I can guess it. Deadbeat dad?"

  
Will sucked in a deep breath.

  
"Bingo. He probably hit your mom. Maybe he drank. He probably cussed at you, called you all kinds of names. Bet he hates that you're queer, or hell, maybe he doesn't even know. I bet he left you used and abused and now you end up stuck with someone just like him."

  
"I hate you," Will mumbled under his breath, unable to muster anything more.

  
"Like you hate him?" Dave couldn't bother to control his eye roll.

  
"More than," Will set his jaw and blinked his eyes. It was something he always did when he was forcing tears from his eye. The faux bravado was a common look on the man that had stuck since childhood.

  
"Just fucking clean it up already, Will. I don't want to fight with you" Dave wandered toward the bedroom. "And come to bed when you're done."

  
"Okay," Will replied meekly.

  
His eyes followed Dave until he was in the bedroom, and he did not move until he heard the familiar creak of the bed. It whined under the older man, a high pitch squeaked that felt like the scream for help that Will had been repressing for months.

  
He set the broom softly against the wall and looked down at his paint-covered body, trembling slightly as a sudden thought came to mind and he couldn't find it in him to even try and shake it.

  
He could leave. Will would walk out the door right now and Dave might not even know until he was far enough away that it didn't matter. The only issue was, getting himself to actually do it.

  
He moved into the living room, staring at the door before turning to the bedroom door. His eyes caught his reflection, dull and transparent in a picture frame on the wall. The picture was of Dave many years before the present, a younger Dave who was roughly Will's current age. The young man stared back at Will, hopeful and happy. As the reflection of himself seemed to merge with the image of Dave, he was struck with the similarities he found. It was the same basic built, same hair falling into his eyes.

  
Will could imagine his future with Dave, his life converging with that of the man whose snores now reverberated through the small apartment. He could see himself having aged as horribly as his lover, turning to alcohol to cope with his mind. He could imagine himself, not taller or broader, but frail and sickly. He could see himself perched next to Dave, misery embedded into his soul and drink in hand. Will could picture the older men who would try and talk to him and the beating that would follow because of it once he got home. He could imagine the divide between him and his friends, his party, growing to be too far and deep for repair or connecting once more.

  
The thought was the invisible force that tugged him off the cliff. He could not lose his friends and was willing to take a dive into the deep unknown of uncertainty. He couldn't lose Lucas who had once fought valiantly for his safe return. He could not lose Dustin who had always been a source of comfort, a warm distraction from the grim beneath the surface of our world. He could not lose Jane who had grown to be a sister or Max who had become the person to whom he told all his secrets. Then there was Mike. The thought of losing Mike felt like a weight on his feet, drowning him in the need to escape the situation he was in.

  
He turned the lock on the front door and then pulled the chain lock from its spot. His calloused fingers, stained from ink, reached blindly for his pair of keys that were hung on the hook, a Hawkins key chain clanging against his keys. The noise rang in his ears, much louder than they should have been. He pushed the door open.

  
"Will?"

  
He had heard the groan come from the bedroom and was spurred into action. His legs moved on their own accord. He pushed out the door and onto the outside hallway. After locking the front door, something that would definitely slow the drunk, he sprinted down the stairs.

  
The night was cold. The light breeze ran a finger up his spine, goosebumps spreading across his arms. The air seemed to leave soft kisses on his neck, the paint nearly dry now on both his skin and clothes.

  
He let out a short laugh, the sound dissipating into the city street and he found himself walking. His bare feet burned against the cold of the sidewalk, but Will nevertheless wandered almost aimlessly, his subconscious acting as a compass beyond his own understanding. Cars buzzed past, rushing down the late night streets like swarms of insects. The lights of buildings and street lights shined brightly, almost irritating Will's eyes with how bright they felt. The moon and stars glowed just as bright and he suddenly felt overwhelmed. 

  
Will's trips away from the small apartment had slowly become less and less. His routine was simple. He would go to school in the morning, having to leave by 6:30 am. He would then be in classes until around 2 and work from 3-10, sometimes later on holidays. He had taken a job at a relaxed little record shop. Will worked there on Tuesdays and Thursdays as well as the weekend. The shop's owner was some middle-aged stoner who still strove to be the rock star he had failed to be in his youth. He had liked Will, and his taste in music, and was more than Willing to work with his schedule. 

  
It wasn't uncommon for Will to pick up extra shifts on his days off. If he was at work, bringing home money, then Dave didn't mind that he was out. Being out was better than being at home. This type of schedule left little room to see friends, and so Will just kind of didn't. He hadn't seen any of his friends in weeks and he found himself struggling to pick up the phone and call them, or even text. 

  
It was no secret that Dave wasn't fond of Will's friends. He had found reasons, mostly ridiculous ones, for each party member as to why Will should not associate with them. It angered him to know that Will kept up with them, and it took so much effort to hide his friends that he had slowly, subconsciously, just distanced himself from them entirely. It wasn't a lack of love for them, but rather a fear of Dave that had ultimately created the divide. 

  
The sights and sounds felt magnified in Will's head. The lights seemed to blur on occasion, the greens, whites, blues, reds, and yellows all blending together in blotches much like those currently on his body. The sounds of traffic, the screech of tires, beeps of horns, low thud of music, seemed to go into his ears and spun around his head. He could feel it between his eyes and his head slowly began to ache. 

  
He shoved his hands into his pockets to give them something to do. His breath started to labor a bit and he should his head. He didn't know what triggered all this, but he felt distracted. His eyes would flicker from car to car, light to light, shadow to shadow. He found the paranoia of his childhood, the paranoia that still set in when lights would flicker or a hallway was too dim, start to claw at his throat. It clawed its way into his brain and behind his eyes, causing tears to well up. 

  
Why was he here? Why was he standing out in the cold of night, wearing very little to shield him from the crisp and cutting night air? Why didn't he pack a bag and wait for Dave until he leaves for work? Why did he feel like the child who always ran to Mike Wheeler's house to feel better from whatever monsters were chasing him? 

  
His eyes finally focused and he looked up. He was standing outside of an all too familiar apartment complex where all of his friends lived. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas were in one apartment and across the hall were Max and Jane. Will had been supposed to room with Mike, or go across the hall to the girls and even it out, 3 and 3. Dave had come into Will's life shortly before they actually moved in, changing those plans around. The party was mostly understanding, happy that Will, who had seldom dated, was finally settled in. 

  
There had been one boy in high school, but the party never really saw him. He was a stoner Will met in chemistry his sophomore year. The boy was a senior with no real life plan and had just on a whim moved away after he graduated, leaving Will confused about what love was. After all, the closest thing he had experienced to romance was the unrequited feelings he held for his best friend. Perhaps had he been able to push those aside, he would have been dating more, but he found the constant comparison of men to Mike in his subconscious. 

  
So he didn't date much in college, but he had flirted a lot before Dave. There was no lack of fun in his life, but the fun had come without romantic feelings. That felt safer in some ways. He didn't worry about the baggage or emotional needs of someone else, but instead focused on himself and experiencing life. He would find passion in acts that did not have love and it was easier that way when damage could remain hidden from the view of those who aren't looking to find it. 

  
Dave had changed Will's no dating rule. He frequented the same bars as the college kid did. He had flirted with him more than once, slept with him more than once, and then the two decided to see if they could make it work. Dave had been more handsome when they'd met. He was thinner, sharper features, and a glint of something Will could not place at the time in his eye. He now called that glint animalistic and predatory, but at the time it had been thrilling. No one had ever wanted him with such intensity and it lit his soul ablaze to know that someone could. 

  
The abuse hadn't started right away. He didn't get hurt until they'd settled in together and Dave got restless. Will knew he still picked up other boys at the bars that he could no longer follow along to. He knew the situation was crap and this was not love, but it was easy. Being with Dave meant no one could touch him, no one could hurt him, the world couldn't scare him. Only Dave could. It was better, right? 

  
Without much thought, he found himself pushing in through the glass doors that lead inside the building. He wandered to the elevator, grateful that the lobby security was asleep at his desk and didn't look at him. He looked absolutely ridiculous, like some homeless crack head with no shoes who'd decided to do a gay baptism and covered himself in the many colors of the rainbow. His fingers shook as they pressed the up arrow. He was nervous again. 

  
After pressing the floor number, he felt the elevator begin to lift. The soft buzzing sound made his head spin. Will let his back fall against the smooth wall of the elevator as he channeled his breathing. The soft jazzy music did nothing to soothe him inside of the death both and he really wanted to get out, lest the four walls began closing in.   
Will let out an audible sigh of relief as the elevator doors parted and he flung himself out, tripping on the way. The soft blue and brown striped carpet of the hallway burned his knees as he skidded and he winced, rolling onto his butt. He pushed himself to his feet, hands grappling for the wall to help himself up. Once hoisted to his feet, he wrapped his arms around himself, meandering down the hallway, counting the numbers as he went. 

  
Soon enough he was stood between the girls' apartment and that of the boys. Everything in his instinct said, run to Mike, let him prop you up once more and steady you as he always had. He shook his head, laughing somewhat bitterly at himself. They'd grown up and Will could not keep running to Mike as he had in his youth. 

  
Even in the upside down, the horrid place Will had been whisked away to back when he was just a child, he had found himself calling out to Mike. His legs had run from the monster and for a while, he had hidden at the Wheeler's house. He had hidden in the closet, under Mike's bed, in the basement. All those places were comforting to him. They were safe and warm and welcoming. They were the closest thing he could have to Mike in those moments. 

  
Well, he was no longer a child and despite his yearning, his fist had thudded against the other door. There was a yell of "coming," from somewhere inside the home. He was pretty sure it was Jane as she had probably still been up despite the late hour. His hands went into his pocket and he cursed at his appearance. He didn't want to scare them, he shouldn't have come. 

  
Just as he was turning to dash down the hallway, pretending the knock was just some kids pulling a trick on him, the door was opened. Jane stood there in plaid pajama bottoms, short curls a mop on her head, and a Hawkin's Sheriff Department shirt. 

  
"Will?" She tilted her head curiously. "It's late." 

  
"I know. I'm sorry...I should go," he took a step back. 

  
"Who is it?" Max peaked over Jane's shoulder, brow furrowing as she looked over the young man in front of her. She hadn't seen him in weeks, so him showing up both unannounced and at this hour set off alarms. "Byers...what the hell happened to you?" 

Jane reached out and gripped Will’s cold fingers in her warm ones, tugging him softly inside. Max took the opportunity to grab his other one and the two of them tugged him toward their couch. 

“Nothing happened, I just need a place to stay tonight. Dave and I just got into a little argument. It’s really nothing.”

“I mean, do you bleed rainbows or something now, Will? What the hell?!” Max gesture wildly at the boy. Her eyes scanned rapidly over his arms, his legs, his face. They scanned for every bruise, mark, and mess that was on him. 

He shrunk under the gaze. “I tripped.”

“You tripped?” 

“Yeah. I stood up to talk to him and I tripped over my easel.” 

Jane and Max shared a look, neither of them buying it. Jane shook her head to the other girl, trying to silently will her not to comment on it further. 

The upside down had been what linked them. The unfortunate events that had led them to the upside down tightened the bond between them. Eventually, the merging of their families is what tied the final knot deeming them siblings. Neither Will nor Jane had ever been particularly vocal with each other, and yet the need for conversation was mostly absent. They could read each other emotionally, balance each other. Their form of communication seemed to be distant and yet beyond words all at once. 

She knew this was not a matter to push, not if they wanted to keep Will safe and with them. The boy was a runner and if given the wrong kind of shove, he would run from them and write back into his abuser’s arms. 

“You must be tired,” Jane spoke softly, gazing down at him. 

“Yeah. I suppose I am,” Will scratched the back of his neck and shifted on his feet. His sore arms wrapped around himself and he found his head nodding slowly. 

“Here,” Jane took his hand, tugging him to the couch. “Nap.”

“You can shower when you wake up. We’ll grab you some clothes,” added Max. 

“That would be,” Will pondered this for a moment before nodding. “That would be really nice, actually. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that, thank you.” 

The girls grabbed blankets for him, tears pricking their eyes as they watched him wince as he settled in. His eyes almost instantly lulled shut and his breathing evened out. 

It broke their hearts to watch the innocence that came to him as he slept, marred only by the bruises and his art.    


"We have to tell the others," Max hummed softly. 

"We have to tell Mike," Jane sighed, knowing it would be a rough conversation and a rough next few days. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope that went well! Leave me your thoughts!


End file.
